


Minuet

by MerinaThropp



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerinaThropp/pseuds/MerinaThropp
Summary: A boy and a vampire dance the minuet. Alfred realises his fairytale has all gone horribly wrong, and Herbert proposes a compromise. Or: what might have happened if Herbert had recognised Alfred underneath his disguise during the ball.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I think the dynamic between these two is one of the cleverest strokes of the musical. A spoiled, exuberant, eternally bored gay vampire falling head over heels for the shy, wide-eyed, perpetually terrified vampire hunter who is supposed to be killing him - there's so much to unpack there. These two are polar opposites with wildly different attitudes to life, and yet Herbert is inexplicably besotted with Alfred, and Alfred in turn is subtlely attracted to the world Herbert inhabits...
> 
> So, here's a little 'what if' piece. I always wondered what might have happened if Herbert had decided to actually Try Again with Alfred upon discovering him at the ball, instead of going straight to his father. And for anyone that cares to picture stuff in their heads whilst reading: I tend to imagine the Kentaur sets and costumes, with Sergey Denisov as Alfred, Kirill Gordeev as Herbert, and Veronica Appedu as Sarah.

It had all gone so horribly wrong, and yet Alfred still clung to the hope that things might, just might still turn out all right.

He couldn't help it. The tendency to hope against hope, even in the worst of circumstances - and these were categorically  _the_  worst of circumstances - was something he'd always been guilty of, even though they had failed so many times over past few days that he was starting to lose count, and his head ached dully at the thought of it.

They had failed to protect Sarah. Failed to fool the Graf as to their true purpose in visiting the castle. Failed to  _fulfil_  their true purpose in visiting the castle and destroy the vampires that dwelled there (though Alfred had to admit, that one was really his fault, and the shame of it still made him cringe). Failed to break whatever awful, hypnotic thrall the Graf held over Sarah. Failed to stop the bite - an image that had seared itself into Alfred's memory forever - and failed to prevent the infection now pulsing through Sarah's veins, claiming her soul for the darkness and making Alfred's heart feel as though it might break at any moment...

They had, in short, failed where all other vampire hunters had succeeded in their stead.

It was like a fairytale gone horribly wrong, Alfred thought; the heroes were losing, the monsters were winning, and the damsel had very much  _not_  been rescued. Surely fate was playing some sort of cruel joke on them both? Logic dictated that this expedition ought to have been an unqualified success - great intellectuals that they were, men of science armed with stake and hammer and weapons of the Church, emerging triumphant from a hard-won battle against the forces of evil…

Instead, they were dancing the minuet (very badly, Alfred was certain) with a retinue of moth-eaten vampires at half-past midnight in a castle in Transylvania, and trying to work out how they might escape said castle without having their throats torn out.

There really was nothing left do now, Alfred thought with a gulp, except  _hope_.

Was it naive - stupid, even - to hold onto faith, even in the face of the most dismal, most despairing of odds? To cling to his idealism with trembling fingers, as though he might bend reality through the sheer force of his own will?

To believe that true love, and good intentions, and a brave heart - well, a heart that  _tried_  to be brave, and surely that counted for something - could win out, even when all three had been trampled so completely?

" _Psst,_   _Junge!_ "

Alfred blinked, pulled back to reality by a sharp tap on his shoulder and a creak of rusted metal. From the sounds of it, the Professor must be passing just behind him, his voice low and urgent in Alfred's ear, and the rest of him clattering through the steps of the minuet with a sound like twenty saucepans being dropped.

"...Professor?" he whispered, out of the corner of his mouth, careful never to take his eyes off his partner.

"There's a chance for her still, my boy!" the Professor was hissing in his ear, and Alfred's heart leapt in his chest. "She passed me just a moment ago. No sign of any fangs yet, and no change to her pallor either. She's still alive."

"Still alive!" Alfred could have sobbed with relief. "Oh, thank God, I thought perhaps -"

"Yes, yes, now listen carefully." The Professor's voice was urgent, businesslike. "We'll meet in the middle during the next round, I'll count to three, and then we make for the d -"

Too late. The music changed, signalling a switch-up of partners, and the Professor was spun away from him, swept back into the throng of ghostly, drifting corpses with their sunken eyes and yellowed fangs, disappearing behind a particularly tall, lithe vampire dressed all in violet -

_The son._

Alfred buried his face back behind his fan, ducking his head so low that his chin touched his chest.

Nothing on earth was worth risking that particular vampire, that awful man, seeing him again. Alfred's knees quaked at the thought of what might happen if he did.

All things considered, it was a miracle nobody had uncovered their little ruse so far: Alfred was practically drowning in richly embroidered brocade, the material weighing down his shoulders and making him feel like a clumsy, overstuffed doll. He had stolen - no,  _borrowed_  - the clothes from an elegant French nobleman who, judging from the engraved title on his fan, went by the name of Lord André.

And surely, if anyone in this room knew the elegant male inhabitants of this castle by face, it would be Herbert?

Alfred shrunk into the depths of his coat, making himself as small as possible as the Erbgraf glided past with a swish of satin and a trill of laughter. The Erbgraf had pervaded his thoughts almost constantly since their encounter in the bathroom, and Alfred had no doubt that he would be suffering nightmares over that particular incident for the rest of his life. He breathed a sigh of relief only when the last thread of golden hair had vanished into the crowd once more.

_Still alive, still alive, still alive…_

The Professor's words echoed in his head, and his heart swelled at the memory of them.

_Still alive!_

His Sarah, his true love, his everything - there was hope for her yet. Alfred could have sung for joy. He peered cautiously over the top of his fan, scanning the crowd for the face of his beloved. The Graf was easy to find - Alfred felt his knees quake involuntarily at the sight of him - towering over the heads of his subjects on the other side of the ballroom, a black stain across the muted rainbow of colours. He still had a fleck of blood on his cheek, Alfred noticed. Sarah's blood.

_Just like his dream..._

Oh God, he felt like fainting all over again.

Focus - he had to focus, he had to stay calm, he had to find Sarah. Surely she danced at the Graf's side, her dainty frame tucked beneath the swell of his cloak, just out of sight? Alfred craned his neck as high as he dared, stretching up on tip-toes, tottering in his stolen shoes -

He tripped.

The moment lasted a second; his foot caught the lace trim of his coat, the material twisting around his ankle, and his partner grunted at him in dissatisfaction as he stumbled.

"Sorry -  _sorry_  -"

The words escaped him, and he bit furiously on his lip to silence them. Stupid, stupid thing to do! His timidness would be the death of them all, and he'd never forgive himself. He clutched his fan tighter, pressing it against his face and squinting through a small tear in the brim.

Oh no.

The Erbgraf had paused, mid-step, the ghost of his laughter dying away and a crease forming between two perfectly shaped brows. As though some vague, unconscious part of him had sensed the inconsistency, the momentary falter in the crowd around him. He cast a leisurely glance back and forth across the dancing couples.

_Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic -_

But Alfred was panicking, he was panicking like a scared child, his mouth dry and his palms sweating and slipping against his partner's as she spun in a loop around him, her crown of ringlets blocking his line of sight for the briefest of moments, and once his view was clear again - the Erbgraf was gone.

Alfred trod promptly on his partner's hoopskirt, his heart pounding in his ears. No, no, this was all going horribly wrong again! Had the Erbgraf spotted something amiss? Had he gone to alert the hunchback? Or worse yet, the Graf himself?

If the Graf found them out now, they were no better than dead meat...

The music changed yet again, and his partner was twirled from him, a new pair of arms encircling him from behind, but the dance didn't matter anymore - nothing mattered, except finding the Erbgraf, and cold dread was pooling in Alfred's stomach now, so that even as the dance began anew, he scanned the crowd frantically, twisting his neck back and forth, seeking a gleam of gold amongst the sea of decay -

And then the arms around him tightened, constricted like the grip of a snake capturing its prey, and Alfred's heart seized with a jolt of realisation that froze him where he stood.

"You know, my dear Lord André, I do believe it's been centuries since I last saw you dance with such vigour, such energy, such remarkable... _youth_."

Alfred opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Fear strangled his throat. Rooted him to the spot. His tongue felt numb and useless in his mouth. He couldn't seem to remember how to scream. Or move. Or anything.

"You do have quite the spring in your step this year, don't you, my friend?" the Erbgraf continued, soft and gloating and yet oddly breathless, as though giddy with delight at his discovery. "Why, you might pass for a man half your age, you are so full of frivolity and" - his lips caressed the shell of Alfred's ear - " _life_."

And Alfred felt his body act of its own accord, some raw human instinct taking over when his brain could not, his hands balling into fists and his legs tensing to  _run_  -

The Erbgraf's grip tightened with an immediacy that made him gasp, his feet slipping against the floor as long fingers dug into his waist like the claws of a bird around a wriggling mouse.

"If you run, my darling," the Erbgraf's breath dusted his neck, and the familiar sickly sweet scent of decay made Alfred want to cough and splutter to rid his lungs of it, "I shall simply trip you up again and scream for Father. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you how...displeased he would be, to learn of your little deception. I mean -"

There was laughter in the Erbgraf's voice now - a silvery, dangerous giggle lilting at the edges of his words.

"-  _I_  think it's terribly sweet and quite ingenious, but you see, Father tends not to dwell on the innate qualities of his victims when he's tearing their throats out."

_Oh God._

Alfred stopped struggling, and instead made himself as still as possible, holding his breath and feeling the  _thump thump thump_  of his heart pounding through his whole body. A cry - somewhere between a gasp and a squeak of fear - choked in his throat.

"Hush, Liebling, I'm only teasing," the Erbgraf was giggling, allowing his chin to fall against Alfred's shoulder so they were pressed cheek-to-cheek, and the intimacy of it all made him want to cringe with shame. "Don't be frightened. I'm on my very best behaviour, I promise. Father would ground me for a century if I started eating the guests before the dancing has finished! Your blood is  _quite_  safe with me."

_That's a very, very illogical thing to say to someone in the arms of a vampire_ , Alfred thought, but he didn't dare open his mouth for fear that he might whimper with terror, so he kept it shut.

"Alfred, Alfred..." The Erbgraf was murmuring his name like a little song to himself, nestling lovingly against his shoulder. "Oh, I'm so happy to see you. I was hoping for some time with you all to myself, before...later. Well, you heard what Father said, didn't you? He plans to feed you and your beloved Professor to the rabble, just as soon as the dancing is over. Ugh, you can't imagine how much I'm dreading having to squabble with our entire retinue for just a taste of you…"

He sighed despondently, and Alfred felt a vague surge of indignance at the flippancy with which the Erbgraf discussed his death.

"...Which brings me to the point, chéri," the Erbgraf interrupted his thoughts, his tone oddly businesslike now. "You see, I have a proposal of sorts, to make to you. A way for us both to get what we want, I think. A  _compromise_."

Alfred blinked.

"Ah, I knew that would get your attention!" Herbert sounded smug. "Now, I'm going to let go of you, and you won't run off this time, will you? Hmm? Good. No more sneaking around, no more stolen disguises, and most importantly -"

The ballroom passed in a sudden, frenzied blur of colour as icy hands spun Alfred on the spot to face his captor; he staggered and blinked, the inhuman speed of the movement leaving him reeling. His cry of protest died in his throat as the fan - no, not the fan, he needed that fan, it was all the protection he had! - was plucked smartly from his grip and refolded with an elegant flick of Herbert's wrist.

"- No more hiding that pretty face of yours behind  _this_  ghastly thing."

Alfred caught his hands mid-twitch as they leapt to cover his face, his heart racing in his chest. He felt like a hunted rabbit thrown out into an open field, fighting the urge to bolt behind the nearest pillar - but Herbert tucked the folded fan beneath his chin and tilted, slowly but insistently, until Alfred had no choice but to raise his head and gaze straight at him.

The Erbgraf was even brighter, even more gaudy, even more -  _too much_  - up close, Alfred thought. He had to blink a few more times, overwhelmed by the garishness of it all, the gleam of silver thread and the sparkle of crushed velvet. It was like trying to look directly at the sun - if the sun were an explosion of purple and lace and nails and long, long hair.

And yet, the Erbgraf - like his father, Alfred thought with a shiver - had a dangerous sort of allure to him too. The kind of allure that, in Alfred's experience, only deadly predators (and very, very pretty girls) usually had. Something about the way the vampire moved, elegant and prowling all at once, an inhuman grace cloaking his body even in stillness, and those eyes that never blinked often enough, but could make you forget the rest of the world existed if you looked at them for too long...

It was that allure, more than anything else, that made Alfred's skin prickle with unease. Because it was one thing to  _read_  about a vampire's deadly ability to attract its prey - it was quite another to actually  _be_  that prey, and have to contend with the vampire in question.

At present though, the Erbgraf seemed to have other things on his mind besides his own attraction. He stood with one hand on his hip and the other pressed in delight to his lips, his face glowing as he looked Alfred up and down, shaking his head from side to side as though marvelling at some rare species of animal.

"Chéri, you are  _clever_ ," he beamed, reaching out to smooth the collar of Alfred's coat and causing decades of thick, acrid dust to fill the air between them, whilst Alfred coughed. "To hide in plain sight, to disguise your scent as well as your appearance! Quite the intrepid solution! I have half a mind to ask Lord André if you may keep that coat, it becomes you far more than it  _ever_  did him…but now, my darling -"

He took an abrupt, ominous step forward, eyes bright and focussed; Alfred felt slender hand trimmed with curved, cruel nails creep gently around his own, and he knew at once, with a surge of dread, what Herbert was about to ask.

"Would you do me the honour? This is a ball, after all, and I do  _so_  want to dance with you again." He drew Alfred's hand up between them, clasping it between their chests like a talisman, and Alfred fought the urge to gasp at just how  _cold_  - "And you being the good, sweet, polite young man that you are would never dream of refusing a dance with your own host now, would you?"

His lips pulled back in a grin that chilled Alfred to the bone, revealing the serrated tips of his fangs, gleaming and deadly in the candlelight.

_Oh, why hadn't he just run when he had the chance?_

"...P-Please -" His voice shaking so much it was almost indistinguishable, and his hand felt like it was slowly turning to ice within Herbert's grasp. "I - I would rather not. You know I'm dreadful at it. You've already danced with me. Lots. So - so there's really no need..."

He tugged hopefully at his hand, but Herbert only heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes to the heavens as though Alfred had said something entirely unreasonable and inconsequential to the situation.

"I assure you, Alfred, your shows of bravery are extremely gallant and very sweet, but now is simply not the time. I said, I want to  _dance_  with you."

He sounded like a petulant child, Alfred thought indignantly - a petulant child who wanted a slice of cake, but he hadn't given the cake any say in the matter.

"Come now, we'll join in the next round." He lifted Alfred's captured hand to his own shoulder, pressing it into place against the lilac brocade of his jacket. "You hold me like this, remember? And I hold you…"

He slipped a hand through the opening of the lace coat and wound it around Alfred's waist, his touch smooth as glass and familiar in the most mortifying of ways, and all Alfred could think was  _not again, not again, not again..._

"...Like this," Herbert finished with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, dragging him forward until they stood chest to chest, and Alfred had to tilt his head uncomfortably far back in order to keep his partner in sight. "Just so. Now, hold tight and follow my lead. And chéri -"

He beamed down at him, obliviously happy, and Alfred scowled back with as much defiance as he dared muster.

"-  _Do_  be careful not to trip again, won't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

And before Alfred could respond, or take a breath, or brace himself for the inevitable ordeal to come - they were off.

The minuet, played upon a harpsichord that sounded as though it hadn't been tuned in several centuries, chimed and prattled in time with the frantic pitter-patter of Alfred's heart, as the Erbgraf pushed and pulled and spun them about the room. Alfred hunched his shoulders and fixed his eyes upon his feet - partly so he wouldn't have to look at Herbert, and partly to stop himself tripping over his own inadequacy at dancing.

Herbert was humming softly, contentedly in his ear, whilst the retinue of immortals continued to drift around them as though dancing on another plane of existence, bathed in ghostly moonlight and whispering across the floor like wraiths. The scent of mildew and rotting clothes stung in Alfred's nose, and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering from it.

What was it the Graf had called this?  _The dreamland of the night_  - yes, that had been it. A dreamland of soulless, unfeeling corpses doomed to walk the earth for all eternity. Alfred shivered. How chilling, to dance among them like this. As though he were already one of them.

_Just like his dream..._

"Bewitching, aren't they?" whispered the Erbgraf, pulling Alfred back to the present - he looked up to see Herbert watching him closely. "I do hope this all lives up to your expectations, chéri. You intellectuals always come to us expecting  _such_  high standards of demonic, malevolent evil, you know, and I do so hate disappointing any of our guests, even the ones that end up as dinner."

He gave Alfred a quizzical look.

"Then again - you have come to us with a purpose greater than the mere pursuit of knowledge, haven't you, my darling?"

Alfred hesitated. He wasn't sure where Herbert was going with this.

"...Yes."

His voice came out as more of a squeak than a whisper, but it was better than nothing, Alfred reasoned. This was manageable, simple questions with simple answers - if he could keep this going, keep Herbert  _talking_ , rather than biting, perhaps he might still come out of this alive...

"Then tell me Alfred, so I may hear it from  _your_  lips, and not from your sycophantic Professor - what, precisely, brings you to to our illustrious midnight ball at Schloss von Krolock tonight?"

Alfred bit his lip. Herbert probably wasn't going to like this particular answer.

His gaze slid across the ballroom to the where Sarah - his poor, poor Sarah, her tiara askew and her neck still crusted with blood - danced by the Graf's side.

"You know why I'm here," he mumbled, watching Sarah totter in her heels and feeling a sudden, mad desire to rush across the room and hold out his arms in case she fell. "I'm - I'm trying to rescue the girl I love. From a monster. And from a terrible fate. A fate worse than death."

Silence, for a moment. Alfred tore his eyes away from his beloved, forcing himself to look back at the Erbgraf, and saw that the Herbert was watching him with a steady, thoughtful look, his brow furrowed as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Chéri, you don't... _really_  believe you can still save her, do you?"

Alfred blinked.

"Yes," he blurted, drawing himself up in defense. "The Professor says she's still alive, and we can stop the infection in its tracks - we have a way to cure her, a blood transfusion, I've read all about it, and the Professor has the necessary equipment..."

He trailed off; the Erbgraf was smiling down at him in an awful, patient, pitying sort of way, like a spider watching a fly try to struggle out of its web and simply strangling itself in the process.

"You are  _sweet,_ Liebling," he crooned, tucking a loose curl of hair behind Alfred's ear and patting it into place in a horribly patronising way. "Go on, go on. I'm listening. Tell me how you and your Professor shall prevail, how this fearful monster will be defeated and your little fairytale will reach its happy ending, against all the odds!"

Alfred swallowed, jutting out his chin as bravely as he could.

"I - I know you're mocking me," he said, trying to sound strong and defiant (and more like the kind of vampire slayer who would actually have been able to  _slay_  the vampire in front of him). "But there's still hope for her. Even if you won't admit it. You think you've won, but you haven't."

"Haven't we, Alfred?" Herbert murmured, half to himself. "Haven't we…?"

He steered their course across the dance floor so that they joined the innermost circle, and the other dancers wound around them like the coils of a snake.

"Look around us. You are surrounded on all sides. There will be no escaping this night, for you or your lady love. Her fate is sealed. Her heart will stop beating before the hour is out, and I needn't tell you it will be quite the challenge to proclaim your undying love to a girl who is intent on simply  _eating_  you."

Alfred flinched. He cast a swift, fearful glance around the dance floor, taking in the rows and rows of razor-toothed predators that encircled them, imprisoned them. Like a pack of wolves gathering to hunt, he thought with a swallow.

He sought Sarah's gaze, craning his neck to find her, but Herbert was whirling them around the floor too fast for him to pick out her face. Other women blurred past instead, other women with riots of curls and creamy skin, but shrivelled by years of dust and decay, a kind of quiet despair in their haunted, hungry eyes.

And to think that any one of these women might be  _Sarah_ , in just a few hours time…

"Come now, Alfred, you must listen to me," Herbert sighed, cupping his chin with one hand -  _cold, cold, cold!_  Alfred cringed inwardly - and tilting it back up to face him, holding his gaze as the world continued circling around them. "A starved predator, that is what your sweet Sarah will be. And you shall be no more than a fresh meal for her to sink her teeth into."

"Don't," Alfred blurted, feeling sick at the thought, "don't say that, you're wrong, the Professor said -"

"You must face the truth." Herbert's voice had a note of eagerness to it now, a purpose, as though he was building to something - he was spinning them too fast, they were getting ahead of the music. "You must abandon these silly notions of escape. You are both going to die tonight - the only question which remains is  _how_."

"Does it matter  _how?_ " His voice was trembling now and pitched with terror, his body fumbling to keep up with the dance. "I - I won't abandon her. Even if she does become one of you. I don't care. I will stay by her side."

Herbert tossed his hair, letting out his breath in a gush of exasperation. "Alfred, now you are being quite absurd, she will slaughter you like an animal -"

"I'm going to be slaughtered anyway!" Alfred burst out, his voice breaking for the first time, and panic seized his body as the admission passed his lips, bringing them both staggering to a halt in the middle of the dance floor. "You said so yourself, just as soon as the dancing is over! What else can I do? She's all I have. If I can't save her, then I'll give my blood willingly for her, I'll join her in death, I can't leave her, I - I promised - I swore -"

_Breathe, Alfred, breathe._

He closed his eyes a moment, turning his face to his shoulder so Herbert couldn't see his expression. His heart was hammering against his ribs, his head dizzy from spinning. He didn't know whether he wanted to scream or cry or flee the room as fast as his legs would carry him. Images were filling his head - savage, bloody images taken from the Professor's most luridly illustrated books. Great feasts where immortals fed in packs like rabid animals, tearing their victims to shreds in desperation to sate their appetite.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God._

If he couldn't save Sarah -  _that_  was his future. That was what awaited him and the Professor, as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow. Pain, and anguish, and death.

How many of these vampires dancing so peacefully, obliviously alongside him would fight each other for his blood before the evening was out?

"Oh, my poor darling, you're trembling like a leaf."

Herbert scooped him close, drawing him against his chest, and it was only when Alfred opened his mouth to protest that he realised his body really  _was_  shaking from head to foot, his knees knocking together and threatening to give out at any moment. The world shimmered alarmingly around him.

"Mon trésor, did I frighten you so very much?" Herbert was murmuring against his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head, and Alfred was too busy trying to remember how to _breathe_  to protest. "You must forgive me. I only want you to know the truth, you know, the reality of what awaits you. You know I care, more than anyone..."

Herbert was swaying them gently, pulling them back into the lull of the dance. His voice was soothing, comforting, like that of an old friend - an old friend who also happened to want to kill you, Alfred thought miserably. The scent of lavender and old lace tickled against his nose, a welcome relief from the stench of decay, and he drew a deep, shuddering breath. The world stopped shimmering.

" _Much_  better." Herbert sounded pleased with himself. "Now, let me see..."

His voice lowered to barely more than a breath, soft and clandestine, as though sharing a secret only Alfred could know.

"What if I could offer you a way to escape all that nasty, brutal slaughter you were going on about, and still spend the rest of eternity in the arms of your beloved, if you so wished?"

Alfred blinked.

"A compromise," he mumbled against the Erbgraf's shoulder, repeating his word from earlier. Realisation washed over him in an instant - so this was what Herbert had been building towards.

"Mm-hm," Herbert hummed in agreement, still swaying them back and forth, though he seemed to be absent-mindedly following the beat of Alfred's heart - pressed against his own, unbeating one - rather than the music.

Alfred frowned.

"But...logically speaking, a compromise should give us both something worthwhile. Not give me everything I want, and you nothing at all." He raised his head from Herbert's shoulder, brow furrowed with suspicion as he gazed up at him. "What do I have to give you in return?"

Herbert smiled - but the smile had an edge to now, something avid and hungry and  _wanting_  that made Alfred's heart sink with dread. His hand drifted absently to the curve of Alfred's neck as though unable to stop itself, stroking the tender skin with icy fingertips.

"You allow me to escort you to my chambers and bestow the gift of immortality upon you myself. Gently. Sweetly. Lovingly. No violence, no suffering, no herd of wild strangers tearing away at your body. Just you...and me...and a single bite."

Far, far away across the ballroom, the harpsichord fell quiet. The dancing couples swept to a halt in perfect, chilling unison, swaying where they stood like marionettes. Herbert brought them to a standstill, though his arm remained entwined - firm, settled,  _possessive_  - around Alfred's waist. Silence crept across the floor, broken only by the rustle of moth-eaten clothes and the murmur of conversation. It was as though the entire ball held its breath, Alfred thought vaguely, in anticipation of his answer.

He shook himself.

What  _was_  his answer?

Of course...now that he thought about it, he should have been prepared for this, really. The Erbgraf's selfishness seemed to know no bounds, when it came to his appetite - it only made sense that he wanted Alfred's blood all to himself, like a spoiled child with a box of sweets he refused to share.

But it was more than that, Alfred reasoned - it was always  _more than that_ , with Herbert. He wanted to be the one to bite him, to infect him with the same poison that now pulsed through Sarah's veins; the most intimate experience a vampire could crave, something that would bond them in a twisted, horrible way, and the mark of that bond would scar Alfred's throat for the rest of his existence - he shuddered at the thought.

_Just like his dream..._

Then again, Herbert felt -  _something_  for him (Alfred didn't know what, and he refused to call it love) - but whatever that something was, it could protect him. Looking at it logically, a tender bite in the arms of the Erbgraf would be bliss compared with the slow, agonising death he was sure to die at the hands of the graveyard inhabitants.

Alfred swallowed.

Looking at it  _logically_...

But a part of him wasn't being logical here at all, he thought with a lurch of shame. A part of him - a very small, very shameful part, the part that couldn't seem to cleanse his mind of  _that dream_ , no matter how hard he tried - was drifting back to the shadow of the castle's portcullis at midnight last night. Back to the crunch of snow beneath his feet and the desolate black sky above, and the voice that had wrapped itself around him like a cloak...

He couldn't really remember what His Excellency had said to him - odd, how the words now seemed almost inconsequential, though at the time he'd drunk them in like a man dying of thirst - but he remembered how it had  _felt_. How he had hungered, in that moment - with a terrible, all-consuming curiosity that burned in his veins and stole the breath from his lungs - to know immortality. To live and breathe and taste the Graf's world of darkness.

For how else could he sate the fascination that had eaten away at him since the very first moment he'd met the Professor? In that moment, studying had no longer seemed enough - reading and writing and wondering and exploring and resisting, alwaysresisting the draw of these creatures seemed futile, pointless. His Excellency was right: curiosity was a deadly thing, and man had to  _become_  what he studied, to find the answers he craved.

_Just like his dream..._

Alfred drew in a quivering breath, clasping his palms together to try and stop them sweating. Of course, that had all been - nonsense, yes, complete nonsense. Flimsy, illogical - impossibly tempting - nonsense. The Graf had caught him at his most vulnerable and reeled him in like a fish on a hook, but that was hardly his fault, and besides, it was all in the past now. It had been an instant of madness, a brief flight of fantasy, that was all. No doubt brought on by chronic exhaustion and the deadly allure of vampires he had already learned to be wary of.

It changed nothing.

Of course, he had to tell Herbert no. Really, his feelings had nothing to do with it. This was a matter of principle, of right and wrong. Of being a brave hero, not a pathetic coward or a weak, easily seduced victim. He couldn't give up now, couldn't abandon all hope just because things had gone rather horribly wrong. He had to fight, like all heroes fought, until the very end of the battle, didn't he?

He couldn't make a deal with the devil for his own selfish sake. He couldn't abandon Sarah and the Professor simply to save himself pain and suffering.

He couldn't compromise.

...No matter how much a small, frightened - and perhaps just the slightest,  _tiniest_  bit curious - part of him wanted to.

Alfred drew in a deep breath.

"I - I can't do that," he mumbled, not daring to meet Herbert's gaze. "It wouldn't be right, and worse than that, it would be - giving up. And I can't give up. Not until the very end. Not until her heart stops beating."

He peered up at his partner, bracing himself inwardly - but Herbert seemed unperturbed by his answer, head tilting to one side as though Alfred had said something only mildly interesting rather than an outright rejection.

"You would rather Father fed you to the rabble, chéri? You would rather have five, eight, twelve of them fighting over you? Dragging you across the floor, tearing at your clothes, squabbling for a piece of flesh to sink their teeth into?"

Oh help, he felt sick again.

"Alfred, it pains me to say it, but to them, you are nothing more than a scrap of food. I must tell you, I have seen victims suffer for hours before they died, with screams that make the whole castle shake, not to mention the ghastly  _mess_  -"

"- What about the Professor?" He hated,  _hated_  himself for the note of hesitation in in his voice. "What would happen to him?"

Herbert blinked down at him. "I'm offering to help you, Liebling, not that senile old fool -"

"He's not senile, he's a genius!"

"- Genius or no genius, my darling, I shan't be bringing  _him_  into my chambers. Ugh, the very idea."

Herbert gave a delicate shudder and smoothed a hand through his lustrous hair, as though Alfred had suggested they bring a pet cockroach into his bedroom - and Alfred felt a lurch of something hot and indignant in his chest. How could the Erbgraf show so little respect to a man that deserved all the respect in the world?

"Then no," he glared. "My answer is no. I could never leave him behind, you must know that. After everything he's taught me, everything we've been through together, how could I ever -"

"Well, it's not as though he'll have that much time to  _mind_ , will he?" Herbert reasoned, sulkily. "He will be dead in half an hour regardless - less, if he's lucky..."

"No."

He held the Erbgraf's gaze, heart thumping in his chest as the word hung between them.

"I said - I said no."

Herbert scowled down at him like a child who'd been denied his favourite treat. His lower lip was jutting out, his paper-smooth features creased with frustration, as though this whole situation wasn't going nearly as well as he'd hoped.

 _Sulking_ , Alfred thought, and stifled the sudden, slightly hysterical urge to laugh.

Odd, really - Herbert hadn't bothered with anything as basic or decent as Alfred's acquiescence last time, had he? The concept of  _rejection_  - along with  _subtlety_  and  _personal space_  and a good many other things, Alfred thought grimly - didn't seem to feature in his vocabulary. He cringed as a rush of unwelcome memories flooded his head: floorboards grating against his spine, his wrists throbbing beneath Herbert's grip, screaming out  _help, Professor, help!_  as the vampire reared above him like a bird of prey diving for the kill...

...What had changed, then?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Update to follow.


End file.
